


By flesh and blood

by aeber



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Human Experiments, Other, character study... ish, except that's he's not human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:34:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23558437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeber/pseuds/aeber
Summary: Grima, in limbo as he is sealed, contemplating death.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 16





	By flesh and blood

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in delirious haste in between classes please take it
> 
> image stuck in my brain that inspired the long fic (who is begging me for updates), what if grima was deliberately created for,,, morally debatable purposes

In his death, Grima remembers some things.

The crypt is unforgivingly cold. He eyes the needle— needles pricking under his skin, the golden fluid trailing from one glass tube to another. This was my purpose of creation, he thinks. There’s a bauble of his blood just beyond the glass panel, but he knows he will never be close enough to siphon the energy out of it.

The runes around him start to glow a silvery color. His vision goes black.

When he comes to, his chest still aches as if the hole was still there. He reminisces on the touch of cold metal pressing against his lungs and heart and feels strangely unfulfilled without it, as if he was made to pierce himself on the holy blade. As if… as if? He laughs at himself. No, he was created for his flesh and blood to be harvested. There is no ‘as if’.

He wonders if this is the afterworld. He doesn’t have a very clear concept on what an ‘afterworld’ is, after all, his knowledge of the human language was based on the snippets he heard from the conversations of his handlers. His legs prick, numb from his many days of inactivity, so he stands up unsteadily, only to realize that he can’t.

He blinks. He tries to flex his fingers and then does he notice the iron cuffs on his wrists and ankles, along with the giant black collar that’s chafing into his skin. With tremendous effort he raises his head, only to see that the glass panel is gone. He’s alone in this dark chamber, the only illumination being the faint light from the sigil holding him hostage.

How much time has passed? He can’t tell. He’s not dead either, even though he would much rather be. There's nothing he can do except watch the molten fluid drain from his wounds to the ground, then disappear into the etchings in the freezing marble.

The lack of company is driving him insane. Even with his eyes closed, his consciousness floats lifelessly in limbo, searching for solace in the flashes of memories that occasionally arose in his quiet torment.

A year later, a drop of water falls from the ceiling to the floor. Grima cracks open an eye and the sound is gone, fleeting as if it was a fragment of his imagination. It might as well have been, but the pristine splattering of a single droplet rings so loud in his ears he regains the strength, momentarily, to shift his weight onto the other shoulder.

Then, a century of silence.

Then another, then a millennium, and another, and another. Three thousand years of utter darkness. Death, he realizes halfway, is too pleasant of a wish to come true. What was death, anyways? Did he deserve to die? What would he have to do to earn it, to earn sweet release, to be able to recall his name in this madness—

Something has changed.

The perpetual stinging of his wounds is no more. He gasps for air, and the scorching sensation tearing through his crushed lungs sets his limbs afire with life. His mind is completely muddled; he can't even remember how to walk properly, but instinct takes over and he yanks at his chains until the links shatter into tiny, jagged pieces.

The scent of fresh meat, fresh life, and the desire to devour it all overrides his senses. The first living being he sees, he sinks his teeth in and shudders at the coppery flavor.

Hm, it seems that there’s more of them coming. Their frenzied screams pulse against his ears and he licks the remaining taste off his fingers, eyes shining brightly with curiosity.

He is surely dead, he reckons. Isn’t this what he craved for since his birth?

**Author's Note:**

> pressing f for plegia castle


End file.
